Thursday, June 22, 2006

are thunderclouds real?

Looking out at the rainy skies with a frown. Midsummer's weekend starts tomorrow and we should be heading out into the outer archipelago in a traditional old wooden boat with a full load of potatoes, fresh fish, wine, strawberries and laughing people who flirt madly with each other. Of course the sun should throw glittering reflections in the waves of the Baltic Sea as we approach the tiny hut on an abandoned islet where we will make personal history for the next couple of days.

Except that I have a cold fear in my stomach. I'm scared of the unpredictable waves towering over the little boat, the threatening clouds that could throw a lightning bolt our way, the paranoid feeling of having nowhere to go when the closeness to all those laughing people overwhelms me.

Before waves, lightning and paranoia get to me, though, worry will kill me. I bang my head against the wall. The coward dies a thousand times.

Wednesday, June 21, 2006

declaration of the reverse

Summer solstice, midsummer, the peak of the year. I hate peaks. From here on, downhill.

But I will reverse the flow of the year, I will fight my way upwards. Why should I be tied helplessly to the course of the winds and the tides of the human soul?

Monday, June 19, 2006

ordinary monday wishlist

A dog, for a companion.
A digital camera, for everyday creativity.
Pretty sandals with glitter and beads, for summer joy.
A new wardrobe, for self-confidence.
A neighbourhood international airport, for cheap flights anywhere.
A real job, for belonging in the world.
All the time in the world, for expressing myself.
Peace of mind.

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

four wonders of Helsinki

Went to Helsinki, our windy, mixed-up, confident capital. On the west coast, where I'm from, the opinion of Helsinki is that it's "nice enough, but so in the middle of nowhere". In Helsinki, there are:

  • A World Trade Center. Not nearly as fancy as the one in New York, which is of course a good thing because nobody would be able to pick it out from an aeroplane. But in the WTC, there are men in suits. The men in my own little city are all of the casual-style, earthy type. When I tire of these, I look for men in suits because they seem to be confident, cool, in control of life. So I bought a mug of Kenyan coffee in the ground floor cafe and sat there watching the men in suits and basked in the illusion that all must be well with the world if these people are running it.
  • IKEA. Not one but two enormous megamarkets filled with everything you could possibly need in a home. When you are world-weary and a bit lost, there is a strange comfort in seeing beautiful, gleaming kitchens and alluringly cosy bedrooms - makes you realise that everything you need for happiness is a comfy bed and a kitchen table for your morning coffee. Of course, IKEA would like you to think you also need their quirky bedside lamp and striped table cloth. But I bravely withstood brainwashing and every clever marketing trick, and came home with only a couple of cutlery stands and a bright yellow icecube tray. Plus another feeling that all is well with the world.
  • An allotment garden. Ten minutes from the city centre, a huge area of apple trees, roses, little potato plots and tiny cottages. And small creeks with old wooden rowing boats. I got dizzy from the fragrance of the blooming rowan trees and couldn't find my way back to civilisation. Not that I would have minded staying in this place that time forgot.
  • Stuff. Stores with shelves upon shelves of fascinating, beautiful, irresistible stuff. I had managed to forget that the world holds things such as bookstores with more than one shelf of English books, clothes that are not from H&M or Anttila, cinemas with surround sound, wok bistros. And people like foreign dignitaries, Russian millionaires, backpackers and hippies.
Now I'm back in the backwater with my yellow icecube tray. And all is well with the world.

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

sun around the clock

Summer in Finland - today I sipped a latte at a streetside cafe and enjoyed the feel of the hot paving stones beneath my bare feet and the sun burning my shoulders. The men were all baring muscles and the women showing legs while a breeze from the sea softened the heat.

The nights are white. From my window I can watch the sun reluctantly set close to midnight but there is no darkness. The daylight plays across the sky even in the middle of the night.

I grew up in these strange conditions and I sleep well even when the morning sun shines at 3 am. But it still surprises me, every year.

Thursday, June 01, 2006

my latest thesis, in its entirety

On men.

There are men who never wait for a sign, a look or a flirty comment, before making a move. Men who don't listen, men like bulldozers.

There are men who wait quietly in the shadows, who let you forget they exist, but who materialise in an instant when you say their name. Men who stay when you leave, men without opinion.

There are men who call and ask if they can come in, who stretch out on your couch with a cup of tea. Men who listen and talk and compliment and complain. Men who bring you icecream when you're ill, who cry at your shoulder, who fix your leaking fridge, who tell you that you're beautiful or that they are going to save the world. Men full of life.

The conclusion? I don't know. I still don't know.